


The Gift

by Janina



Series: Bound & Gagged Sansa [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bound Sansa, Canon Divergence, F/M, King of the Six Kingdoms Jon, Queen in the North Sansa, Romance, SMUT!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 04:41:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18843841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janina/pseuds/Janina
Summary: Jon has taken the Throne and granted North its independence, naming Sansa Queen. He hates being so far away from her and begins a tradition in which she is brought to him, bound.





	The Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Not everything is quite as the show - but you can fill in the blanks. Honestly, it doesn't really matter how it happened, just go with it lol. 
> 
> Based on a prompt about Jon making Sansa visit him in KL, and has her bound up and delivered to him. I've taken some liberties, but I hope it's okay.

The first time Jon sent for her, Sansa had sent a raven back to him to tell him she was too busy to come. 

In retaliation, he sent some of his men from King’s Landing to get her. He’d told them that even if they had to bind and gag her, they were not to leave without her. They were also not to harm her, and they were not to touch her sexually in any way. If they did, he’d kill them. 

His men knew that that their King meant it. Jon was not only a loved King - and a just one - but he was also fiercely in love with the Queen of the North. Harm to her meant their King would seek vengeance. 

They had apologized profusely when she refused to come and they’d had no choice but to tie her up and stuff her in a carriage. She railed at them for hours. Had tried to escape a few times, too - she knew it was futile, but she tried anyway because _how dare Jon?_. 

Sansa still remembered how Jon demanded she be brought to him in the Throne Room with her hands bound before her. Two of his men flanked her to ensure she did not run or lose her balance. 

She held her head high, and glared down her nose at a laughing Jon. He made a show of sitting atop of that ugly throne he hated so much and sauntering over to her in his black wool pants and gray leather doublet. His hair was loose and it was getting long. He was in need of a cut. She supposed she could do it for him. The King of the Six Kingdoms shouldn’t look like a Wildling even if he preferred to. 

She spit in his face because she couldn’t slap him. And because she could. He laughed, wiped his face clean with the swipe of a hand, and dragged her by her bound hands to him and laid claim to her mouth. 

“Leave us,” he said to his men, not once taking his eyes off her. She narrowed her blue ones at him and he laughed again, bent at the knees and tossed her over his shoulder. 

She squealed and pounded his back, but he did not let her down until they were in his bedchamber, the door was locked, and she was lain atop the bed. He untied her hands, pressed her into the bed with his body, and kissed her. Being indignant didn’t seem so important then.

He nuzzled into her neck. “Were they kind to you, my she-wolf? Didn’t hurt you?”

“No,” she gasped when he found _that spot_ on her neck and sucked. “That doesn’t mean you are not still a brute. You are.”

He lifted his head and pushed her wrists down to the bed. “Can I show you just how brutish I am?” 

Her lips curved into a smile and his eyes darkened further. “You had better.”

She wasn’t allowed to leave his bed for three days. 

Ravens were sent back and forth from the North from Lord Royce and Bran. She still managed to rule from King’s Landing, and when Jon got tired of her answering missives, he dragged her back to bed and made her forget her name. 

After that, he would send for her every few months. She liked to put up a fight. It was pretend though. She knew it, and once Arya became the one to come and get her at Jon’s bidding, she knew it too. Ayra also liked to grumble about how disgusting they both were and she knew “more than she needed to know or should know about their relationship.”

When he had matters to attend to, and petitions to listen to, he brought Sansa with him and asked for her counsel.

It was this act of trust in her that made Sansa fall in love with him even more. For so long she had doubted Jon’s belief in her ability to rule and rule well, but when Daenerys was disposed of (by Jon’s hand), and he was elevated to the King of the Six Kingdoms by Varys and Davos, he had told her that it was her he had listened to, that she had been the voice in his head the whole time telling him to play the game. And then he’d admitted he’d needed her help and had been too far in deep to know how to ask for it. 

It was all in the past now, that horrible Game of Thrones. And now, they had other matters to attend to. Such as the fact that she could _feel_ that Arya was due soon to come and get her. She just didn’t know when. And she wanted it to be quickly. 

Arya had decided long ago to make a game of it. She would hide and pop out when Sansa least expected it. Or perhaps Sansa would find her in her bedchamber, laying in her bed having a midday nap. 

Arya claimed she was trying to keep Sansa “sharp and aware”, and Sansa told her that jumping out at her once every few months was probably not going to accomplish that. 

This time though, Sansa was quite “sharp and aware”. She had to see Jon to tell him. She supposed she could go of her own accord, but she knew the time was nigh for him to send for her, and she knew how much he enjoyed her being dragged in to see him with her hands tied up. It was their game.

For days, Sansa spent time in the Godswood, hoping Arya would jump out at her. On the fourth day, she finally did. Sansa jumped, but then exhaled a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here,” she said. 

Arya cocked her head to the side. “You usually yell at me when I jump out at you. Is everything all right?”

“I’m with child,” she said and then smiled a little and placed her hand over her belly. “I’m to give birth in seven moons.”

Arya’s gray eyes, so much like Jon’s, went wide. “You are? Truly?”

Sansa smiled broadly. “Truly.”

Arya rushed over and sat down beside her sister and placed a hand over Sansa’s belly. “What do you think it is?”

“A boy,” Sansa replied, placing her hand over Arya’s. 

“Jon wants a girl.”

Sansa looked at her sister in surprise. “Does he?”

Arya nodded, looking sheepish as she sat up straight. “He’s told me before that if he was to have a child, he’d like a girl and name her Lyanna.”

Sansa smiled. “That sounds lovely.”

“He’s sentimental. Just like you.”

Sansa nudged her with her elbow. “You make it sound like a bad thing.”

“I mean, you’re both disgusting in the games you play.”

Sansa laughed. “I suppose to you we are, yes.”

“But I also suppose that I’m no better when it comes to Gendry.”

Sansa brightened. “Oh?”

Ayra shrugged. “I’ve been with him at Storm’s End. I’m happy to stay there for a while. For now anyway.”

Sansa smiled. “You’ll always have your adventures when you come for me.”

Arya stood. “I’ve a feeling this will come to an end now, Sansa. Jon hates being in King’s Landing. He especially hates being there without you. Once you tell him that you are with child, this arrangement will be over.”

Sansa sincerely hoped that did not mean she would have to give up Winterfell. She could not. As her father had once said, “There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.” And Bran could not take on those responsibilities. Yet who could be in King’s Landing in Jon’s stead? Perhaps Davos...Varys?

“Come, you must pack so we can head out before nightfall,” Arya said. 

“I’m already packed,” Sansa said, standing. 

Arya’s brows raised. “You were waiting for me.”

Sansa smiled. “Perhaps.”

xxxxxxxxxxx

Sansa felt the same rush she always felt when Arya would tie her hands once they’d arrived at the Red Keep. She missed Jon when they were apart, but she had worked hard to not let the fact that she loved him and missed him terribly overrule her. She had duties to tend to; she could not afford to dwell on what she could not have. 

But when she was there, when she was minutes away from seeing Jon, she felt she could run to him. She wanted to. 

“You’re trembling,” Arya muttered as she knotted the rope around her hands. 

Sansa nodded, words escaping her. How did she tell Arya all that was in her heart when she felt as though there were not enough words to describe how much she loved Jon and was desperate to see him. 

Arya helped her out of the carriage, and then up the stairs. 

Once in the Throne Room, her breath hitched at the sight of Jon on that ugly throne. He smiled down at her and climbed down. 

He was taking too long. His gaze burned into her and she felt her cunt grow wet the way it always did when he looked at her in such a manner. She forced herself to stand still. When he was within arm’s reach of her he kept his eyes trained on her as he spoke to Arya. “Arya, why don’t you head down to the kitchens. I’m sure there’s a hot meal to find.”

Arya started to walk away and then stopped, turned, and looked at Jon who had still not moved. “Jon?”

“Hmmm?”

“Just...be careful with her.”

His head snapped toward Arya then toward Sansa. Immediately, he looked worried. “Why?” he asked gruffly. “What has happened? What is wrong?”

Sansa sent her sister a glare. Arya opened her mouth, looking guilty, and then clamped it shut and ran off.

Jon hurried to Sansa and pulled her close. He framed her face with his hands. “My love, what is wrong? What’s happened? Are you ill?”

“Only when I smell fish.”

His brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

“Do you think we could…?” she angled her head in the direction of the path to his bedchamber. 

He smirked. “Sweet girl, are you telling me you want me?”

“I always do,” she breathed and swayed into him. “You know that. Don’t you?”

He smiled gently and kissed her soundly. “I do,” he whispered. 

“Please, Jon.”

Grinning, he swept her up over his shoulder as he always did and carried her off to his bedchamber. Once there, he tossed her onto the bed and then straddled her, pulling off the rope quickly. He leaned down and kissed her deeply. “Mmmmm… now tell me what it is about fish that makes you unwell and has Arya worried.”

She looked up at him, swept some hair from his face and said, “In seven moons, I am going to have a babe.”

Jon froze. And then he looked down at her still flat belly. “Sansa?” he whispered, his voice shaking. “You’re with child?”

“I am.”

“We’re - we’re having a child?”

“Yes, your Highness. We are having a child.”

Jon moaned as he rolled off of her onto his side next to her. He pulled her to him gently and buried his face in her chest. His shoulders shook and Sansa knew he was crying. She felt the wetness of his tears a moment later on her chest. 

She held him, stroked his back, and cooed at him, telling him how happy she was and how she loved him. 

He pulled back, his face wet and kissed her desperately. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much, Sansa.”

“Oh, Jon. I love you, too.”

He began tugging at her dress. “I need this off. I want to make love to you. I need to feel you, be part of you. Can you? Can you make love?”

“Yes,” Sansa said. “The maester told me I can still do the same things for a while. I just have to make sure to get plenty of sleep.”

Jon climbed off the bed and tugged on his leathers. “Are you tired? We can sleep. I can just hold you--”

“Jon,” she said as she climbed off the bed and stood before him. 

“Yes?”

“Fuck me.”

He growled and yanked her into his arms, kissing her until she was breathless. He pulled at her dress and though she heard a mighty rip, she didn’t care. She could mend it. They waited so long for this - they _always_ waited so long for this - and they were celebrating. 

Jon turned her around and pulled and yanked at the buttons on her dress and she laughed with delight. Soon, her dress was gone, she was on the bed, and Jon was over her, naked, his body warm and pressing against hers. 

“You are my Queen. My Northern Queen,” he murmured as he dropped kisses all over her face and then along her jaw. 

“We will wed,” he said. “Once and for all, you will be mine.”

“Yes,” she whispered. 

He stopped and looked at her. “Yes?”

“Yes.”

He moved down her body, sucking first one teat in his mouth and then the other. He kissed around her belly, murmuring a “hello, I’m your Papa” to it. That brought tears to Sansa’s eyes. 

He shouldered her legs apart and her back arched at the first swipe of his tongue against her nub. “You taste different,” he murmured. 

“Do I? How so?”

“I do not know exactly. Just different.”

He made her peak quickly with his mouth and then he was in her and over her, hands on either side of her head. His eyes locked onto hers as he moved inside her. It was hard to keep his gaze - it always was when he looked at her as though she was everything to him. 

He was nonplussed by her turning her head, however, he simply moved her head back until she was forced to look back up at him. 

“You are mine, Sansa,” he told her. 

“I am, Jon. I always have been.”

That did it. His slow strokes grew frantic and he adjusted them by pushing her legs back and thrusting in as deep as he could go. He hit her nub in just the right spot each time and soon she was crying out her release, back arching off the bed. 

“Sansa!” he rasped and held himself inside her as he let go. 

One, two, three thrusts, and he pulled out to collapse onto the bed and pull her with him. “I’m going home with you,” he murmured. 

“Are you now?” she asked with a smile as she ran a finger down his nose. 

He captured her hand and kissed her fingers. “Yes.” He smiled mischievously. “I’ll be your consort.”

“I think not Oh King of the Six Kingdoms.”

He sighed and rolled onto his back, tugging on her in encouragement. She gave in, not that it was a hardship, and rested her head upon his chest as she curled a leg up over his lap. “You and our babe are more important to me,” he said softly. 

She kissed his chest. “I know. And I love you all the more for that.”

He snorted. “You love me for defeating Daenerys and taking my rightful place on that blasted Throne.”

“I love you for doing what was right for the people of Westoros.”

He kissed the top of her head. “I know,” he whispered. “And now I will do right again - I’ll rule from the North. It’s what I should have done to begin with.”

“Do you think that’s wise?” she asked. “Plausible?”

“I’m King. I can do what I want, and what I want is to be with my wife and our babe in Winterfell.”

“And who will see to matters here?”

“Davos. He is fair and just. I’m only a raven away.”

She smiled. “Only.”

“Perhaps it’s time to consider a different way.”

She moved her head to look up at him. “What way?”

He shrugged a shouler and then pushed her onto her back and kissed her deeply. “We have seven moons to decide.”

And he made her forget all but them for quite a long while.


End file.
